


Hampshire Babylon

by ZaliaChimera



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Bets & Wagers, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dirty Thoughts, Funny, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Magic, Rave, Recreational Drug Use, Tokyo Babylon/X:1999
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-31 22:18:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13984485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaliaChimera/pseuds/ZaliaChimera
Summary: Jack, scion of a powerful magical family, meets a mysterious stranger who wants to make a wager.





	Hampshire Babylon

**Author's Note:**

> I swear this was meant to be more serious but… these two just keep derailing things. Tokyo Babylon AU.

Away from the rave, the woods are dark, but the bass keeps pounding through his body, through his veins as he stumbles through the trees. Bark rough against his palms and knuckles when he catches his balance, the dirt and grass soft beneath his feet, if he ignores the occasional twig that is. Maybe he should have worn shoes?

He’s not actually sure where his shoes are. Jill is gonna kill him when she finds out. She’d loved those shoes when she’d forced him into them.

Mum is just going to kill him, but the offer of the party was just too good to turn down.

He thinks he spots something through the trees, a sort of weird light, a faint glow and he can’t decide if it’s a side-effect of whatever he’d taken that’s currently making him feel giggly and light, or if it’s something he should actually check out. Would suck to have a ghost or spirit messing up the party after all.

…he’s never tried magic while high before. Drunk yes, and what an experience that had been and he still hasn’t paid off his mum for the money he’d borrowed to fix the room.

He keeps heading that way and it’s like walking through gauze, like those awful curtains his gran had had in the living room which had seemed to cling. But this isn’t material. It’s some kind of spell? He’s never felt anything like it.

There’s a clearing where he’s pretty sure there shouldn’t be one, and a tree in the centre. A grand old tree, gnarled and thick-trunked, its leaves blazing red and orange and gold.

It’s alive. Fiercely alive in a way that makes the rest of the woods seem dull wood by comparison. That awareness prickles down the back of his neck, raises the hairs there until he steps up and rests a hand against the trunk and nearly recoils from the sense of awareness he gets from it. 

He raises a hand to do… something. Ward it off perhaps? Something here feels strange. Maybe it’s a spirit…

“The foliage is beautiful, isn’t it?”

He starts at the voice, jerking back a little too slowly, his reactions duller than they should be and damn, that last beer had been a mistake. The last several shots too probably.

A man steps out from behind the tree, his smile gentle. He’s dressed smartly, a black suit and tie, a long coat which blows in the wind which rises around them at his words. He’s smiling. 

He’s also really hot. Enough that Jack might stare for a bit longer than is strictly polite.

“Yeah. It is. I don’t think I’ve seen this kind of tree before. Not here anyway.”

The man rests a gloved hand against the trunk of the tree, and it seems to lean towards him a little, splaying out protectively. Possessively.

“A maple tree. Do you know why they turn so red?”

Jack rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. He hadn’t expected a test. “Uh, pigments, I’m guessing, in the leaves. We learnt about it at school.”

The man raises an eyebrow, giving him an amused look. “It’s because of the blood. Each tree has a corpse buried beneath it to give it this colour.”

He sounds so serious. 

Jack giggles. He tries to cover it with his hand but he can’t help it. The guy is glaring now and Jack waves apologetically. “Sorry man, I’m really high right now and that… seriously? That is so cheesy!”

The man sighs, and runs a hand through his dark, curly hair. “Well, some people obviously don’t appreciate atmosphere and magic.”

“Hey! Hey, don’t say that. I appreciate magic! I really do! Kind of the family business you know?”

“Oh? What’s your name?”

“Uh… Jack Holden,” he says, and it’s not quite his full name. Even high, he’s not that dumb. But close enough and anyone with any connection to the magical community should recognise his family.

The man falls silent for a moment, regarding him with an intensity that makes him squirm, gaze dropping to the man’s lips. It’s not fair that he has such nice looking lips and Jack hasn’t got laid since his last boyfriend had turned out to be a douchebag.

Finally he smirks and steps towards Jack. “Of the illustrious Holden family, I assume.”

“Yeah. That one,” he agrees, and then flinches when the man reaches out, something in him recoiling. But it’s just to touch his cheek, leather glove slick against his skin, a soft caress that makes his breath catch and stutter.

“Eugene Woods,” the man says and Jack is hard pressed not to laugh again and he can’t help it if his eyes drop down to the guy’s crotch for a moment because… heh, Woods.

“Did you seriously just…” Eugene asks and Jack gives a shamefaced nod that he hopes looks somewhat repentant. Eugene shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “Jesus. Really? Is this what this is going to be?” he asks no-one in particular but the tree rustles in the background.

“Sorry,” Jack says, “but… I did mention I’m pretty trashed right?”

“It might have come up,” Eugene replies dryly. “Look, why don’t we make a bet?”

“Oooh, what kind of bet? I’m not playing poker though. That way just lies misery and really ill-advised cooking.”

“No, not poker,” Eugene says. “Give me your hands.”

Jack raises his hands, and Eugene takes them, turning them palm down. There’s a sharp sting which makes Jack gasp and when he looks down, there’s a sigil burnt into the back of them, something that makes a sick feeling curl in the pit of his stomach. “What-”

“I’ll make a deal. If we should ever meet in the future,” Eugene says, leaning close, his lips against Jack’s ear, warm breath and a brush of teeth and it’s really hard to concentrate on what he’s saying, “let us live together for a year. If at the end of that time, I’ve begun to feel something for you… I’ll let you live.”

Something roars in his ears and in his mind and he opens his mouth to scream to say something, but Eugene’s lips press against his hard.

And then there’s blackness.

He wakes hours later, curled up at the base of a tree, his head pounding and black gloves on his hands. He’s really not sure where he’d got those from. 

Must’ve been someone at the rave. 

He’s just starting to stir when there’s the sound of pounding feet and pain when someone stumbles into him. The guy looks panicked, dark curly hair messy and slicked to his skull with sweat, his eyes wild.

“Wha-” Jack says intelligently.

The guy looks back over his shoulder to where the bass is still pounding out, and then back at Jack. He holds out his hand, and a wave of deja-vu sweeps over Jack. “Come with me if you want to live.”


End file.
